My New Addiction
by herpyderpyhojo
Summary: Sherlock tries to cook for John, but is baffled by pasta. John is trying to face his feelings towards Sherlock. How are things going to play out from here? (Taken from a roleplay between me (John) and the very talented 'incendiopuff' on here. There are 4 chapters, and probably no more. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1 - The trouble with food

Sherlock stood by the fireplace, playing his violin with a fervour bordering on violence. He was trying to drown out the constant need in his head, like bees clamouring for nectar, that was telling him that he needed nicotine. It was an insistent pull, almost a survival instinct within him. Unfortunately, he had misplaced his nicotine patches and his destruction of the flat had heeded no results for either the patches or the secret stash of cigarettes. Apparently John had gone out again, seeing as he hadn't appeared to yell at Sherlock as he trashed the flat.

Meanwhile, John trudged back from doing the shopping, two large bags in his hands. Thankfully, this time, he had not shouted abuse at any self-service machines. It was a warm night, but stuffy - just the sort of weather that John hated. Brilliant. He stopped outside the flat, put one bag down to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, before picking it up and walking in. "Sherlock? I'm back."

Despite the violin, Sherlock could hear John coming up the stairs. By the sounds of it he was carrying something heavy- no, two heavy things...bags. Yes, the scraping of plastic against the wall, quite rigid, must be the 'bags for life'. His heavy footfalls suggested weariness, exasperation. Not the kind of mood that would bode well for Sherlock when John found the state the flat was in. Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and he never faltered in playing his violin, until John reached the door of the flat. He drew the composition to a swift ending, making a mental note in his mind palace to finish it properly when he wasn't so agitated. He listened vaguely to the sounds of John coming in, preparing himself for the raised voice and inevitable swearing that only a soldier could pick up.

As he got inside, John didn't notice the state of the flat - he was too set on putting these bloody bags down, it felt like he was going to do himself an arm injury. Once he had set the heavy load down, he sighed, and strolled out of the kitchen. Kicked back in his chair. Started to relax. Then became aware of the mess around him. Usually, he'd lecture (read: yell at) Sherlock. But in all honesty, he was too tired. He'd been woken up at some unearthly hour by Sherlock playing his violin again. John slowly closed his eyes, and sighed wearily. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" he asked, still managing to sound annoyed enough.

Sherlock noted everything John did by listening: the clanking on the floor suggested he had bought tinned food, most probably sweet-corn, and the rustling - plastic bags, those flimsy ones, probably vegetables of some sort. Sherlock sighed inwardly, John had probably bought carrots again, since Sherlock had admitted to liking them a few days ago. Sherlock filed 'probable attempt at force feeding in the next twenty four hours' in his hard drive, but swiftly deleted it. He would face that problem when it came. Then Sherlock began to count down the seconds, 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1... John sighed. Ah. No swearing. A faint crease appeared between Sherlock's eyebrows. Another time John had surprised him. He turned around as John spoke, propping his violin against the wall and throwing his hands up in irritation.

"I NEED it, John! How do you expect me to work at my best if I can't even concentrate?!" He strolled around the room, his hands flailing about his face, his eyes pleading. "Just one cigarette! I've done cold turkey for weeks now!" John's head was in his hands again. Jesus, he needed some sleep. Sherlock's agitated voice rang in his head, and he groaned in frustration.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, you're doing well! You're not letting that go to waste!" he sighed, bringing his head back up to look at Sherlock. "Look, I got some nicotine patches. Make do with those, okay?" John raised an eyebrow, with an almost invisible smirk. "Or will the great Sherlock Holmes be defeated by a lowly cigarette?" Sherlock couldn't stop his pacing until John mentioned the patches, flinging himself into the kitchen and digging around the bags. He slapped five of them onto his arm, waiting for the wave of relief. While he waited he walked back into the lounge, and around once in a circle, before swirling around to meet John's eyes, seeing the challenge there.

"A cigarette is an inanimate object, John. " He stared at John for a few moments, and then the nicotine kicked in. Like hell cigarettes were going to beat him. A smile spread across his face, and he couldn't help a peak of laughter that escaped him. John chuckled, picking up the paper and reading it idly, not taking much interest in any of the trivial stories in there. A slight laugh escaped John's lips as his friend began laughing. Though he'd never say it, John always felt relieved when he saw that Sherlock was all right. He cast aside that thought - it was probably because he was a doctor, and it was his job to make people better, so seeing someone better would be a relief, regardless, right? Sod it, he thought. I'm too tired for this thinking lark.

"Feeling better?" John asked. Sherlock fell backwards over the side of the sofa, slumping down into the plush cushions and propping his bare feet up against the armrest, his long fingers steepling under his chin. His gaze was directed at the ceiling, but his eyes were seeing streams of facts and codes, his brain fueled by the nicotine kick. Suddenly he shouted out in response to John's question.

"Yes! John, yes! Thank you! Text Lestrade and tell him it was the governor's daughter. she killed her stepmother because she was involved in a foreign affairs scandal and her step-mother found out! It's all so SIMPLE now, don't you see?!" John's tired eyes widened slightly at his friend's sudden burst of energy. He was glad he was back to normal... well, back to his usual self, anyway. Normal and Sherlock Holmes were two words that couldn't fit together in a logical sentence, ever. John blinked a few times, taking a few seconds to register the facts Sherlock had just blurted out at him at the speed of light, and nodded curtly, getting out his phone and texting Lestrade. Sherlock sat up on the sofa, knees under his chin, the initial effect of the nicotine beginning to wear off. He was more level headed now, and looked over at John, studying him intently. "You are tired."

"Well spotted." John said, laughing dryly. He glanced away, looking at his watch. Just generally avoiding eye contact with Sherlock. He always felt a little uncomfortable when Sherlock studied him like this, which he did a lot. Those piercing cold blue eyes felt as if they were burning his skin, but John ignored it. I'm just tired, he thought. Just bloody tired and not thinking straight. He rubbed his eyes and sighed as he stretched out in his chair. "D'you want tea?"

Sherlock catalogued everything about John, his shirt was slightly untucked from his trousers, and creased, suggesting it had been like that all day squashed against the doctor's chair. John had small bags under his eyes: last night he only got a few hours sleep, and his hair was slightly ruffled, a tamed bed head. No shower that morning, meaning he had been late waking up. Sherlock had been down at Barts all night, collecting evidence from the body on the last case, until he came back early in the morning and began to play his violin, not stopping until John had left and he could ransack the flat in peace. Sherlock thought about limiting his violin to more civilised hours, but disregarded the thought almost instantly. He made a general noise of consent to the tea, absently noting how John seemed to look after him all the time.

Then there was John's body language, shifting in his seat, angling his body away from Sherlock and avoiding his gaze. Sherlock knew that people often felt put off by his scrutiny, but the first time John had been his subject he was awed, not repulsed. Conclusion: there was something John was hiding, however, they were subconscious actions, and therefore he may not even have been aware of what he was trying to hide. John got up with another stretch, and ran a hand through his slightly messy hair. He went into the kitchen to make the tea, however he couldn't help but notice Sherlock staring intently at him again. Just what was he deducing this time? John didn't bother turning to face his friend as he asked plainly "What is it?"

Sherlock watched John running his fingers through his hair, and idly wondered what his hair felt like. Purely for scientific purposes, of course. Sherlock thought it would feel like the inside of a feather pillow. He wondered why he was wondering, but didn't deduce himself in principal; it was so much more interesting to deduce others.

"Thinking. Are you going out tonight?"

John frowned a little, placing the tea on the counter and slowly sitting back down, not bothering to pick up the paper. It was all rubbish, anyway.

"No, I'm not. Why?" He sighed, leaning back and trying to relax; though that wasn't easy with Sherlock staring at him. His eyes fluttered shut, and he briefly exhaled. His leg was aching.

Sherlock jumped up, his dark dressing gown swishing around his legs as he grabbed his tea, leaning back against the counter.

"We're having dinner at Angelo's." He sipped his tea softly. In truth, he could make tea very well himself, but why make the effort when there was one perfectly willing John Watson to make it for him? Plus, it always tasted better when John made it.

"Oh, are we?" John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock obviously couldn't be bothered with cooking tonight. Typical. Well, John couldn't be bothered either, really. "All right." He tried to make an effort to sound thankful, despite his tired state. Sherlock sipped some more tea, thinking again. Perhaps they shouldn't go out after all, John's half-hearted attempt at thankfulness obviously wouldn't get past Sherlock, and it was no good for his best man to be half dead anyway.

"Hmm. Change of plan. I'll cook." He finished his tea and set the cup down onto the counter, leaving for his room without another word. John blinked, and wondered if he'd hurt Sherlock's feelings. He then smiled to himself; Sherlock was testing him. But he was grateful, since it was usually himself that ended up doing the cooking, and he thought it was sweet of Sherlock. Sweet? No, no, kind. That's what I meant, he thought. He looked over at his friend, and smiled softly.

"Cheers, Sherlock. Try not to blow up the kitchen, okay? Mrs Hudson would have your head."

Sherlock smiled that strange half smile of his, and went up the stairs into his bedroom, pulling off the dressing gown with a flourish. He dressed with only half his mind on what he was doing, the other half busy at work, thinking about what kind of food John would like to eat. Of course, he could just ask, but Sherlock didn't like 'just asking'. He pulled on his black trousers and buttoned up the purple shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, as per his custom. He walked back into the lounge and paced up and down.

"Food." He stated, slight confusion in his voice. "What's the POINT?" John blinked in disbelief. Why was that childish smile so...so...gah, get it together, John, he scolded himself. That smile was just...odd. Odd. That's what it was. John rolled his eyes, as Sherlock paced up and down, in that crisp purple shirt...

"You don't have to do anything big. Just something quick." John almost felt bad for not being the one who had offered to cook. Sherlock frowned slightly; he couldn't remember the last time he had cooked. Before John came along and practically force fed him every week or so, he had only eaten when it would be damaging to his mental state if he didn't. Or when Mycroft blackmailed him into it. Even then, it wasn't food he had cooked. For some reason, he wanted to cook something for John, though. Perhaps the gesture would gain him some friendship points? Was there even such a thing? Hmm... Sherlock walked into the kitchen and began opening the cupboards, muttering under his breath about the arrangement of the products.

"If you don't like where I put stuff, feel free to do the shopping yourself next time." said John, sounding slightly amused. Of course, he could get up and insist on cooking instead... but he wanted to see how this all played out.

"There is a difference between doing the shopping and ordering food sensibly." Sherlock said this quickly as he spoke when he deduced something. He laid out the ingredients for a simple pasta dish on the counter, and stared at them for a while. Huh. Like pasta was going to beat the world's only consulting detective! He was unsure of how much to use, but knew that pasta would expand in heat, and it was boiled, right? So he shouldn't use too much. He poured the whole bag into the saucepan. To be on the safe side. John rolled his eyes yet again at the comment about ordering food, and picked up the newspaper, skim reading it, though nothing was of any interest. He was simply distracting himself. He became more alert when he heard Sherlock pour what sounded like an entire back of pasta. John opened his mouth to say "You're supposed to boil the water first", then decided to shut his mouth again. Sherlock wouldn't listen, and he'd only go off on another "What's the point?" rant.

"...Did you seriously just put in a whole bag of pasta?" John actually found this entertaining, maybe even slightly adorable. No, just entertaining. Funny. Funny that the great Sherlock was baffled by the idea of cooking.

"Shut up, John. "

A few minutes later, Sherlock had managed to figure out how to turn the gas on, and the pasta was boiling. It seemed that complex crime scenes were easier for Sherlock to solve than the mystery of cooking.

"Look, d'you want me to do the rest?" Sherlock backed away from the pasta, frowning. he folded his arms around his tight purple shirt and leaned back against the counter.

"Go ahead." He was annoyed at himself for not being able to do this one thing for John. John gave a genuine smile, and walked over to the kitchen. He tried not to limp, but his leg was a little sore today. Sherlock couldn't help staring at John more, still deducing him. He noted the limp, his frown becoming more pronounced. He met John's eyes again, as if asking him about it. John stopped, frozen for a moment by those bright eyes, before smiling again.

"It's nothing, just a bit sore. Must've slept on it funny or something. I'm fine."

Sherlock sighed. "It's psychosomatic..." He crouched down, staring at his leg as if it could offer him the answers to the meaning of life. He saw how John stood on it, suggesting anxiety. Maybe caused by tiredness? John frowned slightly, taking a small step back so that he was leaning against the counter.

"Sherlock, it's fine, really." He felt a little uncomfortable having Sherlock staring at him again, even if it was just his leg.

"I can't have you feeling less than one hundred percent. Where does it hurt?" Sherlock pressed his long fingertips to the back of John's calf. He was aware of John's discomfort with him being so close, but ignored it.

"I'm fi-" John stopped abruptly when he felt Sherlock's fingers on the back of his leg. Okay, this wasn't good. John felt uneasy, yet he really didn't know why. Sherlock's hand was surprisingly soft and comforting. John blinked a few times, before taking a breath. "Sherlock, it's okay, really, it'll ease up." Sherlock noted how John froze when he touched him, and made his touch lighter so as not to hurt him. He moved his hand further upwards to his knee, blatantly ignoring John's protests. Surely he would have realised by now that Sherlock did not stop when he had his mind set on something. John's heartbeat had quickened significantly, and this was worrying. Sherlock was barely even touching him. John internally kicked himself, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. Why was his heart reacting so badly to this? He discreetly bit his lip, and decided not to say anything. Sherlock wouldn't listen, anyway.

"John, the pasta is boiling..." Sherlock said distractedly, beginning to knead his fingers into the soft skin at the back of John's knee. He may not have been a doctor, but he knew John needed to relax if his leg was going to stop aching. Interestingly, Sherlock could feel John's pulse racing even through the fabric of his trousers. "John, you need to relax." He looked up at him, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Mm..." John tried to relax more. Sherlock's touch was comforting, and it was not hurting as much, but still... John was certain Sherlock would notice that something was wrong. He'd heard of how he had deduced this sort of thing before, with Irene. He'd notice his pulse, or his pupils would have dilated, or some other absurd detail. He moved his hand to switch the hob onto a lower heat, and desperately tried to calm himself down.

Sherlock stopped suddenly, for when he looked up, he understood. Just what John had been dreading. John was breathing slightly shallower than usual, and his pupils had dilated. His pulse was racing beneath Sherlock's fingertips, and he pulled his hand away, getting to his feet again. He felt the need to clear his throat, but squashed it. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warm. His hands went together under his chin, and he sighed slightly as he thought.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He must have figured it out, thought John. Try as he might, there wasn't anything he could hide from Sherlock, he was just too clever. Shit. John glanced sideways, desperate to avoid eye contact. "Um... thanks." he mumbled, turning off the hob and feeling knots forming in his stomach. Sherlock ignored him. He was busy trying to suppress a sense of satisfaction that had arisen in him which he didn't understand at all. He didn't think of John that way, did he? He couldn't. Emotions were foolish. He was married to his work and John already knew that. Sherlock spoke his name without moving, his voice slow and deliberate.

"John..."

"What? What is it?" John knew he'd realised, that he'd figured it out. But he wasn't going to bring it up. He'd simply pretend he hadn't noticed anything. He knew Sherlock could never feel the same, and he was angry at himself for falling for him. Yes, it was true. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes. And he was ashamed of it. Idiot. of all people, the one who disregarded emotion? Well done, John, nailed it, he thought angrily to himself. He abruptly turned away from Sherlock, wanting to change the subject. "Erm.. the pasta's done."

"I don't want any." Sherlock strode into the lounge and picked up his violin, coaxing a fast paced song from its strings. He thought about what he'd just learnt, and berated himself for not seeing it sooner. All those looks between them... John trying to save him at the pool... John's faith in him that no influence on Moriarty's part could shatter. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all... with John. He couldn't deny that there was something there.


	2. Chapter 2 - Are you toying with me?

John felt like he'd just been stabbed with the realisation that Sherlock would never feel the same way. Why was he only realising this now? Idiot, he thought to himself. He wanted to crawl into bed, curl up under the covers and never come out. He sighed, draining the pasta and adding a cheap tub of tomato sauce. Though somehow, he really didn't feel hungry any more. He should have been more careful, he should've just hidden his feelings better. Now he'd screwed up, big time. He sat down at the kitchen table, and tried to eat, but it was a lot less appetising all of a sudden. He didn't feel sad, it was anger, anger at himself for being such an idiot.

Sherlock decided. He knew what would happen now. He could tell by John's movements that he had hurt him, that he was feeling rejected. A stab of fear entered Sherlock's heart when he thought of all the possible outcomes. What if John wanted to move out? What if their friendship was ruined now? He put his violin down again and walked over to the table with determined strides, stopping when he was in front of John. John hardly noticed his friend stopping playing the violin, and blinked in surprise as Sherlock was suddenly in front of him. Come on, John, he thought. Man up, for Christ's sake.

"Oh. So, you do want some after all?" John was determined to come across as cheerful, as if nothing was wrong at all. He didn't want Sherlock blaming himself. Or was he reading too much into things? Sherlock rolled his eyes this time, not bothering to restrain himself. He launched into a speech, talking quickly like he usually did and hardly pausing for breath.

"John, I'm honestly flattered that you would think of me in that way, but I'm not the best person to seek a relationship with. Besides my obvious lack of experience, I'm not exactly relationship material." He stopped for a second for some much needed oxygen. John's heart stopped. His fears had just been confirmed. He laughed, accidentally sounding nervous.

"What are you talking about? We're just friends. I don't feel that way." Sherlock looked at him with a 'you're not fooling anyone' face.

"John... I think I'd like you to kiss me."

"W-What?! Why?!" John felt his cheeks burning. What? What was this? Sherlock held his gaze steadily, waiting.

"Well, I would kiss you but unfortunately it's not something with, hence why I'd like you to take the leading role." He couldn't help his amused smile, knowing that he wasn't answering John's question at all.

"Hold on, what makes you think I'm experienced?" John felt himself blushing furiously, and glanced away again. After a pause, he said quietly and quickly "D-D'you really want me to?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Come on John, you've obviously kissed many women before, and it's not that much different with a man. It's obvious how you feel about me, and I'd like you to kiss me."

"But..." John closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. He opened them, and frowned. "No, you wouldn't. This is some sort of experiment, isn't it? You're toying with me."

"Do you think I'd ask you to kiss me purely for an experime- wait. Don't answer that." He pushed away from the table, which he had been leaning against, and exited the kitchen. He grabbed his phone, going to text Lestrade. He needed a case before he went insane. John quickly realised his mistake, and stood up abruptly.

"Wait, Sherlock." He pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. Great, now he was showing weakness. He walked up to Sherlock, snatching the phone and setting it down on the table. "I'm probably gonna kick myself for this, but..."

Without thinking, he grabbed Sherlock's collar, and pressed their lips firmly together. Sherlock offered no resistance as John approached him. He already knew what John would do from the moment he left the room. When their lips met, it definitely wasn't what Sherlock had expected. He had never seen the attraction of kissing, of touching someone else's mouth with your own, and God forbid, your tongue...but this... this was heavenly. John's lips were slightly chapped, but soft, and the way John had to stretch to reach was quite adorable. Sherlock realised after a moment that he should bend down to make it easier, and he angled the kiss accordingly.

John couldn't believe he was doing this. But this felt...pardon the cliche...perfect. It really did. It was then that John properly accepted it - this was what he'd been wanting, no, needing to happen. God, he...he loved Sherlock. He tried to show this through the kiss, and it came surprisingly naturally. Sherlock tried to mimic John's movements, cataloguing everything in his mind and storing it for future reference. He fumbled with his hands for a minute, eventually resting them on John's waist. This was really quite nice, and John certainly knew what he was doing. John was quite close, but Sherlock didn't mind that at all, even if he usually hated anyone entering his personal space. John inwardly noted that Sherlock was catching on rather quickly, and he felt his blush growing deeper. It was as if Sherlock's soft hands were red hot against him. The smaller man pulled away to breathe, and found himself more out of breath than he expected. Well, Sherlock was full of surprises. That, and John's heart was racing, resulting in shallower breaths. "I... Sorry. I-I got carried away."

"Oh John, do shut up." Sherlock leaned in to kiss him again, and silence him. The excuses were getting tiresome now and Sherlock wanted to explore this further. John's eyes widened in surprised, then became heavy lidded, and eventually closed. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, making a soft noise in the back of his throat. I love you, Sherlock, he thought. I love you. I love you. 


	3. Chapter 3 - You can distract me

I love you, Sherlock, thought John. I love you. I love you.

Sherlock closed his eyes, kissing John with a little more confidence. He didn't want the kiss to end. it was absurd. Stupid. Irrational. How did John manage to give him emotions? He lifted a hand to brush lightly against John's hair. Interesting.. it was as soft as he'd imagined earlier. John slowly deepened the kiss, feeling his hands trembling ever so slightly. In the end, everyone who thought they were together had been proven right. At the back of his mind, John wondered how Mrs Hudson would react if she were to walk in right now, but the feeling of Sherlock's lips and hand in his hair soon overcame that. Sherlock parted his lips hesitantly, a small gasp escaping him as John deepened the kiss. His hand reflexively tightened in John's hair. He felt John stiffen slightly, and knew he was thinking about someone finding them. That annoyed Sherlock because he wanted John's undivided attention. He slipped the hand that was on his waist to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

John let out a soft moan as Sherlock pulled them closer together. There was next to no space between them. On instinct, he gently ran his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip. He shivered; his lips were so warm and soft, softer than he had ever imagined. Sherlock pulled back this time, breathing heavily. He tentatively licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Umm...That was...good." He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

"It was rather, wasn't it?" John smiled sheepishly, looking at the floor. "Listen, Sherlock. I know you already know this, but I want to say it anyway." John took a deep breath. "I love you, Sherlock. There, I said it." He kept his eyes firmly locked on the floor as he said this. Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. This was the first time he had been made speechless. He couldn't respond to that. He couldn't go from being a sociopath one minute to 'in love' the next, no matter how he felt.

"John, I can't. I...I'm not capable of...?" He sighed and began pacing in frustration. John smiled.

"Sherlock, loving someone doesn't mean you're not a sociopath. But if you don't feel that way, it's okay. Or if you do, but you're having trouble saying it. It's fine. It's all fine." John remembered when he'd first said that, that evening he'd been desperate to convince Angelo that he was not Sherlock's date. He smiled fondly at this memory. Sherlock continued pacing up and down for a minute before turning and kissing John fully on the lips.

"It's fine, Sherlock." John smiled, a little surprised by the sudden kiss. "So... would you ever want to... you know... do that again?" Sherlock looked at him for a moment, and smiled. Then laughed. The proper laugh that only John could get out if him.

"Yes, I think so." This made John blush lightly, and he couldn't help but keep smiling. He knew Sherlock's feelings were probably similar to his. Even so, he wished he didn't have so much trouble saying it... but more than anything, he was glad Sherlock was happy. That mattered more to him than anything else. Sherlock could read John's thoughts on his face as if he were an open book. He bit his lip in agitation, but couldn't say anything. What could he possibly say to make this better?

"Thank you, John..."

"What for?"

Sherlock ignored the question, asking one of his own instead.

"John. I have no idea of the formalities involved now, so what are you expecting exactly?"

"Who said I was expecting anything? If you want, we can carry on as normal, y'know, like.. friends."

"But you'd like to take it further?" John twitched slightly at that.

"...Well, not if you don't want to." Sherlock waited. He was going to get an answer out of John, even if he had to wait all day for one. John bit his lip, blushing deeper still.

"You already know my answer." Sherlock smiled. Okay, fine, he was having fun playing around with John.

"That's what we will do, then." He leaned back against the wall, and looked at John, as if to say "Your turn, come and kiss me". John scowled. He knew Sherlock was playing around with him.

"Fine." He grumbled, as he reached up to gently kiss his lips again. Sherlock smiled childishly when John gave in. Perhaps one day he could return John's declaration. In fact, he was sure of it. But not right now. He knew John would wait for him, though. His brave, loyal John. He kissed John softly, bending down a little to accommodate John's height, trying to convey through the kiss what he couldn't through words. John sighed contentedly, and gently moved his hands up to stroke Sherlock's hair. Sherlock pulled John closer to him again, cupping his face with his hands and holding him there. He ran his tongue along the seam of his lips. John shivered a bit at this, nervously parting his slightly chapped lips. Sherlock slid his tongue past them, one of his hands slipping back into John's hair again. He sighed softly, exploring John's mouth with gentle strokes.

The feeling of someone stroking his hair had always been strangely comforting to John. He shyly greeted Sherlock's tongue with his own, moaning lightly. Sherlock shivered at the feeling, and rubbed his tongue against John's in the hopes of eliciting more moans. He could also tell John liked having his hair stroked, as the shorter man visibly relaxed against him whenever his fingers ran through his hair. As expected, John relaxed even more, as Sherlock's surprisingly warm palm comforted him. Sherlock's hands slid down John's face and down his contact with John's neck caused him to jolt slightly, and Sherlock noted this, storing the information away for future reference; the exact location and response. That required further exploration. He let his hands begin circling his shoulders softly and down his arms. He could feel the muscles protruding under the shirt John was wearing, reminiscent of his army training. Sherlock pulled away again to breathe, but stayed close, only inches away. He pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips, panting slightly. John's eyes fluttered shut. He could barely think, his mind was all over the place. He managed to slow his breathing down after a while, then gestured to the sofa before sitting down. Sherlock nodded, realising the ache in his body from standing up so long. He sat down next to John on the sofa, but immediately leaned into him on impulse. John smiled, lazily draping an arm around him.

"You're a good kisser." Sherlock's words caused John to go a little red again.

"Oh. Well. So are you." Sherlock smiled and shifted so he could curl against John's side better. He rested his head against the shorter man's shoulder and sighed. John gazed at him fondly, and ran a hand through his curly hair. He hugged him close. "You okay there?"

"I feel better." Sherlock undid his cuff and pushed his sleeve up so he could rip the nicotine patches off. John blinked, and frowned.

"You sure you should be taking those off so soon?" He gently held his hand, twining their fingers together.

"I don't need them. They're dull. Besides, I'm sure you can distract me if I need a boost." Sherlock flicked the patches onto the floor with a complete disregard for tidiness, and then lay down so his head was in John's lap. John smiled down at Sherlock, carefully stroking his hair. Sherlock hummed quietly; he could see why John liked having his hair stroked so much. He gazed up at the ceiling, cataloguing the feeling, and replaying all the new things he had learnt today in his mind. John looked at the beautiful man in his lap, feeling happier than he had in a long time. Everything about Sherlock was beautiful - his soft curly hair, his smooth pale face, those bright blue eyes... John saw that he was thinking, as always, and wondered what was going through that peculiar yet brilliant head of his. "I'm simply adding these events to my hard drive. If I can understand the feelings and how they affect then it could give me a greater understanding into motives." John chuckled.

"I didn't say anything." He leaned forward and pressed an affectionate kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

"Obvious." Sherlock replied, simply. He reached up and grasped the back of John's neck, pulling him down and raising himself up to make their lips meet again. John's eyes widened a little in surprise, then closed as he softly returned the kiss. Sherlock moaned softly into his mouth, sucking lightly on John's lower lip. He shifted so that he could hold the position a little easier. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him up so that their faces were more level. The little moan Sherlock let out sent a small shiver through him. Sherlock twined his fingers in John's hair again, leaning into his body as John held him up with his strong arms. Sherlock noted that John's level of attraction increased with that thought, and he understood what people meant when they described someone as 'hot'. That was something that definitely described John right now. John very lightly flicked his tongue against Sherlock's lower lip, and Sherlock parted his lips, making a contented sound in the back of his throat. He knelt on the sofa, his legs either side of John so he was more comfortable, causing John's cheeks to burn again. Sherlock's long eyelashes fluttered softly, and he stroked John's tongue with his own, letting him explore his mouth. John tasted nice, like tea, an undercurrent of the pasta he had just been eating, and something that was undeniably John. When John pulled him closer, their chests pressed together, silk against cotton, and Sherlock shuddered. This contact was quite overwhelming for him, as he had never experienced this much bodily contact in such a short space of time. In fact, the closest he really ever got to another human was when he was studying their corpse. He supposed this wasn't an appropriate thought, and pushed it out of his mind.

John noted the shudder, and pulled back, their lips barely a centimetre away from each other. "You alright?" Sherlock nodded quickly, and leaned forward slightly, inviting another kiss. He had felt a sense of loss when John had pulled away, which was completely irrational, seeing as the man was barely a centimetre away from him!

John soon got the message, and smiled warmly into the kiss. He felt so warm inside, it was unreal, and Sherlock was being ridiculously adorable right now. Whether or not he was aware of this, John wasn't sure. Sherlock relaxed fully into John's arms now. He was literally sitting in his lap, but knew that he wouldn't hurt John, after all he wasn't that heavy, and John was strong anyway. Still, the height difference was more of a problem.

"John? Perhaps it would be better if we swapped positions."

"Mm.. okay." John said with another warm smiled, as he shuffled over a little to let Sherlock off of his lap. Sherlock fell onto the sofa, pulling John over him and locking their lips together again. This was much better. It was more comfortable for him, seeing as he wasn't bent at an awkward angle, and he guessed it would be more comfortable for John not to stretch. John made a little noise of surprise as he fell on top of Sherlock. Jesus Christ... He could feel every contour of Sherlock's immaculate body. He passionately returned the kiss, cupping Sherlock's face with his slightly trembling hands. Sherlock noticed the tremble in John's hands with a start of surprise, and he softly pulled out of the kiss, taking one of John's hands in his own long fingers. He kissed his palm briefly before kissing each fingertip individually. Sherlock knew that hands were one of the most sensitive parts on the human body, and he gently ran his tongue over John's knuckles.

"S-Sherlock?" John questioned as he broke the kiss, then he gasped lightly. Oh God. His hands. Of course Sherlock knew they were sensitive. John bit his lip, his eyelids fluttering at the soft yet intimate contact with Sherlock's lips and tongue. Sherlock placed light kisses across the back of John's hand, tracing the paths of his veins with his tongue. The reactions he was eliciting pleased him, and he wanted more. He noticed that it was the same kind of craving he got for nicotine. Interesting. His hunch had been proven right; he could replace drugs with John. John shuddered lightly, his tooth digging into his lip harder. But when he felt Sherlock's tongue on the back of hand, he couldn't help but let out a quiet moan. "Ah..." Sherlock hummed quietly in reply, and let his lips explore John, over the ridge of his wrist, and lingering on his fluttering pulse for a few seconds. He sucked gently over the fragile skin there, and traced his pulse lightly with his tongue. John let out another quiet moan. For someone who wasn't experienced in this sort of thing, Sherlock seemed to know all of his weak points, and his movements were so steady and sure. John was becoming hyper-aware of the fact that their bodies were pressed right up against each other, and turned bright red. Sherlock blinked and met John's eyes.

"You're aroused." He stated. He let his hand slide down so his fingers were entwined with John's. John flinched.

"No, I..." John tried to protest. He wasn't, was he? No no, oh God no. Shit. Sherlock just stared at him.

"You're going to have to do better than that to fool me, John." John gritted his teeth. Okay, yes, maybe he was just a teeny tiny bit turned on. But of course Sherlock would notice.

"J-Just shut up..." Damn, this was embarrassing.

"I don't know why you are so defensive. I'm reciprocating, in case it had escaped your notice."

"Sherlock...?" John's blush grew darker. Oh. Oh God. "Oh...um...right..." He had not expected things to go this far already. He wasn't unhappy, quite the opposite, but even so, he gave Sherlock a look that said "What now?" Sherlock's thinking face was back.

"A man like you would surely have been curious at some point in his life, even if you have never acted upon your intentions. This means you are indecisive because you would like me to take the leading role. Although I'd like to know your limits before we proceed."

"I..." Of course, John was going to deny that, then realised there was really no point, since it was blatantly obvious. He blinked a few times. "Limits...I'll tell you...if you go too far..." That was the best answer he could give. He didn't know what his limits were. His heart was thumping and his head was spinning. Was this really happening?

"John? Calm down! We don't even have to go on if you don't want to."

"No... no I do want to. I do." John managed to calm himself down, and gave Sherlock a warm, reassuring smile.

"Intriguing." Sherlock traced the contours of John's face with his fingertips. John's eyes fluttered slightly, and he leaned into the touch.

"Erm... I think we should take this to a bedroom... it might be more comfortable." Sherlock smirked.

"You know, most people wouldn't want to progress this far this early." He gently pushed John off his lap and got up, stretching.

"You don't want to?" John gave Sherlock a questioning look. Was he being too forward? He hadn't even considered that. He'd been in love with Sherlock for so long now, he almost felt as if they were making up for all that lost time. "Well, you're not 'most people', are you?" John smirked a little, standing up, then wincing slightly at his leg.

"You're catching on, John. Well done. Now what was that about your bedroom?" Sherlock smiled at him, and held out his hand, which John eagerly grabbed. 


	4. Chapter 4 - I trust you

John sighed as he felt himself starting to wake up and become aware of his surroundings. All was normal, except... It was warmer than usual, but not in an unpleasant way. John's tired eyes eventually flickered open, and he blinked several times in order to focus them better. The first thing he saw as he glanced up was Sherlock's sleeping face. Ah, that's right, John thought. Sherlock and I... He closed his eyes for a moment, as he remembered everything from the previous night. Right. He'd actually slept more soundly last night than he had in a long time, probably because of Sherlock's comforting warmth beside him. The sun was only peeking slightly through the curtains - it was a dull, drizzly day. Ah well. John opened his eyes again, just watching Sherlock, and snuggling slightly closer to him. The other man looked thoughtful, even in sleep.

Sherlock had only half slept all night, not being used to sleeping with someone else in his bed. He had kicked the covers off himself some time during the night, finding John's body warmth to be comforting, but slightly overwhelming in conjunction with his high thread count silk sheets. The duvet was strewn over his calves, leaving the rest of his body bare throughout the night. He stirred slightly when John moved, sensitive to even the slightest change in his surroundings, and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. John blinked, not thinking that would have woken him up.

"Sorry. Go back to sleep." He smiled slightly, brushing the curls out of his friend's (well, more than friend's) eyes. Sherlock ignored John without even an acknowledgement and sat up, rubbing the small of his back unconsciously and swatting his unruly curls out of his face. He stretched briefly holding his arms above his head and making the muscles strain, before flopping unceremoniously back onto the bed... or really, on John.

"Morning," he mumbled grumpily, his face buried against John's neck. John had to stop himself from chuckling when Sherlock flopped onto him, lazily draping his arms around him.

"Morning," he replied, finding Sherlock rather adorable when he was sleepy. "D'you sleep alright?"

"No." Sherlock couldn't bring himself to say anything more than one syllable. No matter what people thought, he really wasn't a morning person at all, not unless there was a case he wanted to solve ASAP. Of course, John already what the answer was going to be, very much aware that Sherlock wasn't a morning person.

"'Course," he mumbled, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. He found himself gently stroking Sherlock's back, almost as if he were easing him into the morning. Sherlock zoned into the sensation of John's hands, his fingers, letting his gentle stroking ease him into the day. He shivered and sighed, nuzzling into John in an almost cat-like way, relaxing under his touch. John grinned happily at this, cuddling him close in return. He kept softly stroking Sherlock's back, and pressed a gentle kiss to his head, breathing in the warm scent of his matted curls. Sherlock hummed a little in contentment, before shifting so he was lying next to John again, sprawled out over the mattress. "John."

"Hm?" John's eyes never really left Sherlock as he shifted over. He rolled onto his side to properly face him. "What is it?"

"I don't feel any different." John's brows creased a little in confusion.

"Different to what?" Sherlock sighed.

"I mean physically, John. My research has told me that after the first sexual experience one is meant to feel physically different or self conscious, but I'm not experiencing any paranoia over my body." John pursed his lips awkwardly, his trademark expression.

"Isn't that a good thing, then?" Come to think of it... John glanced down. Oh. They'd obviously not bothered to put clothes on after...well, that. John suddenly felt very self conscious, and he quickly pulled the covers back up to cover himself, with a mutter of "oh, Christ...".

"It's interesting... I already have a number of theories as to why I don't feel different, but they require further investigation." Sherlock trailed off for a moment, lost inside his own head, before he turned around and stared at John. "What are you doing?"

"...In case you hadn't noticed, Sherlock, we're not actually...wearing anything!" John grumbled, pulling the covers up so that they reached his waist. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock blinked.

"Of course we're not wearing anything John; we were hardly going to spend time last night getting changed now, were we? I don't usually wear anything to bed anyway, it's uncomfortable and unnecessary." John just grumbled, pulling the covers up around his shoulders.

"Well, some people get self conscious sometimes, okay?"

Sherlock paused for one moment, before suddenly flipping over and yanking the covers away from John's body. John yelped, trying to grab at them and snatch them back. Of course, Sherlock was too quick. "Sherlock!"

"Which part?" Sherlock asked vaguely. John just stared. Sherlock pushed the covers onto the floor with sure movements, before lying over John so his arms were pinning John's to the mattress. "I said... which part, John?" John inhaled a little in shock, his eyes widening as he looked up at Sherlock leaning over him.

"...You know what I mean," he mumbled through gritted teeth, giving Sherlock a protesting look. Sherlock bent down and pressed his lips hungrily to John's, making a clear claim as he lightly nipped his bottom lip. He pulled back slightly after a bruising kiss to whisper:  
"You don't have to be self conscious about your body around me," before leaning back down and reclaiming John's mouth. John flinched a little at first, before quickly relaxing into the kiss. God, he loved it when Sherlock took control, though he'd never admit it. He kissed back just as hungrily, his eyes fluttering shut. Sherlock abruptly ended the kiss again, sitting backwards on his heels and releasing his hold on John's arms. He smirked knowingly. He didn't say anything, but he could tell by John's body language that he very much enjoyed being made to submit. Interesting. "Turn over, John."

"I-What?" John's eyes widened again, and his mouth fell open in disbelief. "No!"

"Trust me. Please." Sherlock's face was serious, although he gave no indication of what his intentions were. John felt more self conscious than ever now. He felt his lip tremble slightly. Even so, he did trust Sherlock... He let out a nervous breath, before reluctantly turning over. He hid his face in the pillow, feeling himself flushing deeply. Sherlock leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to the top of John's head, letting his lips rest in his closely cropped hair for a moment. "John, I want to do something, but I can only do it if you trust me completely." John relaxed slightly at the kiss. Sherlock's words made him slightly uneasy, though. What...?

"Of course I trust you, but what're you wanting to do...?" Sherlock leaned back again, giving John some space. He rested his palms flat against John's shoulder blades for a few seconds, not moving, just waiting for John's reaction. He wanted John to trust him, and he thought to do that he needed to approach the most sensitive part of John, physically and emotionally: his wound. However, to do that he needed John's complete trust. It was a paradox that confused Sherlock, being socially inept as he was, and he didn't realise that maybe it was too early in their relationship to try and be this intimate with John on an emotional level, especially since he couldn't even bring himself to say three simple words to this brilliant man. This didn't really clear much up for John, and he was still in the dark about what Sherlock was planning. He wasn't nervous now, just confused. "Sherlock? Whatever it is... I definitely do trust you," he said firmly.

Sherlock whispered a "thank you" so softly he could hardly hear it himself, and then he lay down next to John, slightly draped over his back. He let his fingers run gently over John's back, tracing the muscles hidden beneath his skin, until they came to rest on his shoulder just below the wound. John turned his head to look directly at Sherlock, his eyes questioning him, then he felt Sherlock's hand on his back, and he understood. The touch made him tense up very slightly, though not in pain. After Afghanistan, he'd never let anyone else see this wound, let alone touch it. Sherlock stilled his hands when he felt John's muscles tense, and met his eyes with an unfathomable look in his own. He waited patiently for John to relax, or as patiently as he could, anyway. John bit his lip, not trusting himself to form a sentence right now. Instead he tried to apologise for being so self conscious through his expression, and he gave a tiny nod for Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock cautiously ran the tip of his index finger along the scar of the exit wound, where the bullet had left his body. It was clear as day to him looking at the wound what had happened, the muscle and bone had been torn and ripped by the shot, aiming for the heart, and just off its mark. He traced the edges of the raised scarring gently, resting his other hand on John's back in a soothing gesture. John sighed. He almost expected this to hurt, but of course, it didn't. It felt comforting. John relaxed his body, his eyes fluttering a little as he put his trust in Sherlock. Sherlock realised the exact moment when John relaxed, and actually trusted him to continue. He slowly lowered his lips to the wound, and kissed it delicately, making sure to cover the entirety of the scar tissue in tiny, loving kisses.

"Oh..." John sighed contentedly, his eyes closing again. A soft smile spread across his face at how gentle and loving Sherlock was being. His heartbeat quickened slightly. Sherlock pushed at John gently, turning him back over, and kissed him sweetly on the lips again, tilting the other man's chin up with gentle fingers. John hummed in the back of his throat, and he brought his arms up to wrap around Sherlock's neck, softly kissing him back. Sherlock gave John one last peck on the lips before getting out of bed and stretching again.

"I told you, you don't have to be self conscious around me."

"I know, Sherlock. Thank you." John smiled warmly, hopping off the bed, pulling on some clothes, including his black and white striped jumper. "Breakfast?"

"Not hungry." Sherlock fluffed out his hair and pulled on his dressing gown, staring unashamedly as John got dressed. John obviously didn't notice this. Sherlock strode out of the room and flopped onto the sofa, pulling John's laptop towards him from where he had left it on the coffee table the day before. John followed him, and rolled his eyes as he saw Sherlock on his laptop, though this time he couldn't be bothered to snatch it. He started making tea, and some toast for himself.

"I take it you're having another pyjama day?" Sherlock quickly browsed the news in the London area.

"No cases, John. What's the point in getting dressed to go out if I'm staying in?" He went into John's favourites folder and clicked on his own blog. He had taken the liberty a month and three days ago to re-arrange John's favourites folders and bookmarks. Either John hadn't noticed (highly unlikely) or he had just decided not to argue. That was looking more likely. John made a little "mhm" noise in acknowledgement, as he spread an excessive amount of jam onto his toast, as usual. He took a large bite before handing a cup of tea over to Sherlock. Sherlock started typing up his findings from an experiment a few days ago. He had been looking at the strength of different bones from an unfortunate English Starling. He hoped John wouldn't find them any time soon.

"You're welcome." John mumbled, sitting down and flicking on the TV. Sherlock ignored him, typing quickly and drinking a few sips of tea with his left hand as he typed. John glanced over at him. "What're you typing?"  
"I'm updating my blog, John. Feel free to peruse it later."

"Okay." John finished his toast, and finding that he was still hungry, went to open the biscuit tin. Then shut it again. "...Sherlock."

"I'm busy, John. What do you want?"

"Why are there bones in the biscuit tin?" 


End file.
